She gave a contented sigh and shifted her position slightly on the sofa. She reached her hand toward the warmth of the fire. The soft orange light created shadows as she waved her fingers around.
She reached down. Picking up a shiny ribbon, she wound it around her hand, enjoying the reflections of the firelight bouncing around the room, creating flickering lights on the walls and ceiling. Following one patch of light with her eyes, she twisted her wrist to make it flash on first one wall, then another, then on the ceiling and then onto the angel. It lit the cherub’s porcelain face, making the angel child look even more otherworldly, more holy. She grinned at the thought, and then allowed her eyes to slowly wander down the tree.
The twinkling lights caught her eye first, of course, standing out in the darkened room. The warm reds and soft blues, the dazzling greens and vivid purples, the star-like whites and fire-like oranges…they all combined to gently illuminate the ornaments on the tree.
She picked out a classic silver ball next to a stuffed cloth Santa with a cotton beard. Below them, an heirloom wooden train next to a glittery popsicle-stick star. Old and new, metal and wood, shiny and matte, store-bought and lovingly homemade… It was impossible, she thought, that any tree in the world was as beautiful as the one right here.
She looked down, under the tree. No more presents, just crumpled paper reminders of what they had looked like. Stretching her arm, she just barely reached a relatively unwrinkled scrap. Smiling elves frolicked among toys and wrapped gifts, causing her to softly beam at the remembrance of her son opening a box that had been wrapped in this paper.
“Honey?” a deep voice from behind her softly questioned.
She pulled herself up to look at her husband and responded, “Yes?”
He grinned at her, “I wasn’t sure if you were awake.”
She smiled back, “I am.”
“There’s a little wine left,” he said, showing her a half-full glass of deep red wine.
“We’ll share.”
He came over and slipped behind her on the couch. She leaned against him, snuggling in his arms and took the glass from him. As she sipped the wine, he said, “The children are snuggled asleep in their beds. No sugar plums though.”
“I don’t think that’s quite how the line goes,” she said as he chuckled. “Besides,” she said, gentle teasing in her voice, “isn’t that for Christmas Eve?”
“Close enough. In any case, they are asleep, your parents have closed the door to the guest room and the house is quiet.”
“Sounds nice,” she responded wistfully.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, really.” He stared at her, as if daring her to talk. “It’s silly.”
“Tell me,” he commanded.
“It’s nice, just sitting here, especially with you, enjoying the calm and the memories but…well…I’m just a little sad that Christmas is over.”
“Well, Mrs. Johnson,” he said, looking at his watch, “the time is now exactly 11:58 pm. That means that we have 2 minutes left.”
“Well then, Mr. Johnson,” she said turning toward him, “Merry Christmas.” She leaned over and gave him a Christmas kiss.